


Shipwreck

by blanketed_in_stars



Series: 52 Weeks of Wolfstar [40]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (my favorite tag apparently), Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sirius Needs a Hug, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 01:42:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4985125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blanketed_in_stars/pseuds/blanketed_in_stars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How, Remus wonders, did the air between them become so thick in only a few seconds? But it comes to him that this hasn’t been sudden at all. Sirius’s white knuckles on the doorframe, the hesitation when they kissed, the confusion and forgetfulness—and Remus is still blind in the way that he always has been, too frightened for himself to see it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shipwreck

**Author's Note:**

> Week 40

When the door opens, Remus smiles as best he can with mud in his socks. “Afternoon.”

“Is it still Wednesday?” Sirius asks, gripping the doorframe.

“As far as I know.” The mud is between his toes. He shifts to the other foot, not that it makes much difference. “Can I come in?”

“Oh. Right.” Sirius steps aside and shuts the door once Remus has entered. “I thought you said you had a mission. With Tonks.”

With his back to Sirius while they walk into the dining room, Remus smiles, remembering Tonks’s expression when he told her. “I cancelled,” he says. “There are more important things.” He turns around and leans in to kiss Sirius.

There’s a moment where it feels like Sirius is going to push him away, but then they slide smoothly together. “What’s more important,” Sirius asks, “than the Order? Than saving the world?”

“What day is it, Sirius?”

“Er.” Sirius’s hands pause. “Wednesday?”

“What day of the month?”

“I don’t know.”

Remus would like to think this is because of his spectacular kissing, but Sirius’s tone clues him in. He pulls back, just a bit, and sees consternation hidden in Sirius’s eyes. “It’s Valentine’s Day,” he sighs, brushing a lock of black hair to one side.

“Right.” Sirius recovers quickly, with a blink and a small smile. “Lucky me.” He leans in again.

Some fifteen minutes later they’re half horizontal on the sofa in the drawing room, and Sirius murmurs, “Is this your whole plan?”

“It’s… not good enough?” Remus replies, finding it difficult to form words.

“No, I like it,” Sirius replies with similar shortness of breath. “But some people bring flowers.”

Remus smirks as he sits up. “We’ve got flowers,” he says, and waves his wand. A bouquet of red roses appears in his hand.

He enjoys the surprise on Sirius’s face. “When did you learn to do that?” Sirius demands. “You couldn’t do it seventh year, or the year after that.”

Well. The truth is that he learned it the next year, but by February, 1980, all their kisses had the taste of ash. No need to bring that up again. “I’ve been practicing,” Remus lies. But then he sees how Sirius is gazing at the roses. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on.” Remus puts the flowers down. “You said yourself that we can’t keep secrets anymore. We have to talk. What’s wrong?” He tries to make his voice soft, like coaxing a wounded animal from its den.

Sirius nods jerkily, runs a hand through his hair. Heaves a sigh. “I don’t think I deserve flowers,” he says at last.

“What? That’s—that’s not true,” Remus stammers.

The look Sirius throws him is disbelieving. “For ages, all I’ve done is sit around this house. Don’t give me flowers. I haven’t done anything.”

“No,” Remus says. He isn’t sure how to articulate his protest beyond that word, so he says it again with vehemence. “No.” How, he wonders, did the air between them become so thick in only a few seconds? But it comes to him that this hasn’t been sudden at all. Sirius’s white knuckles on the doorframe, the hesitation when they kissed, the confusion and forgetfulness—and Remus is still blind in the way that he always has been, too frightened for himself to see it. “You don’t need to do anything,” he says. “And,”—he does his best to take any edge from his tone, to sound kind, to reach him—“I thought you wanted the flowers. You practically asked for them.”

Sirius shifts away from him on the sofa, so there’s too much space between them.

“What’s wrong?” Remus repeats, and remembers that the two of them do not have a good track record with this question. “What’s bothering you?”

There is a long pause before Sirius answers, a pause during which Remus vanishes the roses. Finally, Sirius says, “I don’t even know.” He tilts his head back, staring up at the chandelier. “Part of it’s the house. It’s always the house. You know.”

Remus knows.

“Part of it’s the weather,” Sirius says, and chuckles. “I hate winter.”

“You always have,” Remus murmurs.

The small smile vanishes from Sirius’s face as quickly as it appeared. “Mostly it’s Azkaban,” he says, his voice nearly breaking on the jagged consonants. “There are—there are always reminders. Sometimes I forget where I am.” His eyes, when he looks at Remus, are full. “And even if I make it through the day all right, nine nights out of ten I dream about it. The rocks, the waves.” He draws his hand across his face roughly, almost angrily. “I don’t think it’s going away.”

“Sirius—” Remus stops to clear his throat, which seems to have something stuck in it. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s not going away.” He wishes there weren’t an entire sofa separating them. “But you’re not alone. I’m—I’m here for you. I’ll always be here.”

“What if you aren’t?” Sirius whispers.

“That’s not going to happen,” Remus insists, and he knows it’s an impossible promise but something in him is breaking and this could be all that’s holding them together. “I’ll—I’ll talk to Dumbledore, take a break from the Order.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Sirius is trying for a lighter tone, Remus knows, but his voice is bleak. “The Order’s more important than this.”

“Don’t _you_ be ridiculous,” Remus throws back. “Nothing’s more important than you.” How exactly he will convince Dumbledore of this, he has no idea, but he can worry about that later. For now—“Come here.”

To his enormous relief, Sirius doesn’t hesitate to close the distance between them. They cling to each other like shipwreck survivors. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” Sirius mumbles into his shoulder.

“I love you,” Remus replies. He holds Sirius close and feels two sets of lungs expand, contract, expand again. They are here. They are still breathing. It will have to be enough.


End file.
